


Tell It Like You Still Believe

by ariel2me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 08:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1463248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One does not deceive oneself about the consequences of one's acts; one deceives oneself about the ease with which one can live with those consequences. I knew the consequences of my decision to live within myself, but I could not have foreseen the heaviness of that loss." (‘Augustus’ by John Williams)</p><p>A captain of the guards with his prince, an onion knight with his lord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell It Like You Still Believe

**Areo (i)**

_“I saw Volantis once, on my way to Norvos, where I first met Mellario. The bells were ringing, and the bears danced down the steps. Areo will recall the day.” “I remember,” echoed Areo Hotah in his deep voice. “The bears danced and the bells rang, and the prince wore red and gold and orange. My lady asked me who it was who shone so bright.” (A Feast for Crows)_

“Would you like me to find out, my lady?”

“Yes, Areo. Discreetly please. We do not want him, whoever he is, to think me too forward.”

Too late for that, Areo Hotah thought, as he spied the “ _he_ ” in question returning Lady Mellario’s lingering gaze. A foreigner, Areo thought, from a distant land. A foreigner in red, gold and orange, visible from miles and miles away. But it was not the brightness of his clothes that caused the lady Mellario to seek out the identity of the foreigner, Areo knew. It was his smile, the glowing smile that made the sun paled in comparison.

The identity of the man who had so intrigued Lady Mellario was not hard to ascertain. A few well-placed gold coins later, Areo had his answer. He quickly returned to his lady’s side.

“The man is a Westerosi, my lady. A prince from Dorne, though not yet the Prince of Dorne. Doran Martell is his name, the eldest son of the Princess of Dorne.”

“A prince? He does not look like a prince. What do you think, Areo?”

His lady was fond of asking Areo Hotah his opinion, even in realms where he was not likely to know the answer. She was not really expecting an answer, Areo knew, but it still felt good to be asked in any case.

“I have never seen a prince before, my lady. I would not know,” Areo had to admit.

Mellario laughed, her husky, comely laugh that drove men to distraction. “Nor have I, in truth. But I have always pictured them looking dark and gloomy, burdened with their inheritance, not shining as brightly as this prince.”

“Perhaps this prince is burdened as well, only he is better than most at hiding it,” Areo replied. Mellario gazed at him thoughtfully. Now why had he said that? Something in the prince’s eyes. Something he saw when the prince was laughing and clapping at the dancing bear on the steps. The prince’s eyes were not laughing along with his mouth; they were dark pools you could be lost in and never returned home.

One of the men accompanying the prince was approaching them. “Greetings from my prince, my good lady. Prince Doran would be honored if the Lady Mellario would honor him by joining him for supper.”

So the prince had also dispatched his own spy to find out Mellario’s identity. He was as intrigued with the Lady Mellario as she was with him.

“My lady, your lord father –“

“My father can wait, Areo.” His opinion was not sought for this time, it was not even welcomed. Mellario turned to the prince’s man, smiling her intoxicating smile that Areo himself was not immune to, even promised and wedded as he was to his axe from the age of six and ten. “Please let Prince Doran know that I would be very glad to accept his invitation,” Mellario said, her voice firm.

_________________

**Davos (i)**

_Within Storm’s End, the horses had long since been eaten, the dogs and cats were gone, and the garrison was down to roots and rats. Then came a night when the moon was new and black clouds hid the stars. Cloaked in that darkness, Davos the smuggler had dared the Redwyne cordon and the rocks of Shipbreaker Bay alike. His little ship had a black hull, black sails, black oars, and a hold crammed with onions and salt fish. (A Clash of Kings)_

There were the consequences of getting caught by the Redwyne galleys besieging the castle. There was also the possibility of being mistaken as an enemy by the besieged men themselves, Davos’ little black ship taken as a hostile force sent to attack them under the cover of darkness. Davos weighed the risks and the rewards, and considered the risk worth taking.

“Only a starving man begs bread from a beggar,” his wife had said once.

Only a starving man would thank a lowly smuggler for some onions and salt fish.

The lord of the castle, when Davos was finally brought to his presence, did not look as pleased and as grateful as his people had. He looked wary and suspicious, staring at Davos with a withering gaze that looked so strange coming from a man so young, from someone looking half-starved with one foot in the grave. His eyes were dark blue pools that reminded Davos of the sky on a desolate starless night.

“Why have you come, smuggler? Do you wish to be paid in gold for your onion? We have no gold here. Perhaps Lord Tyrell and Lord Redwyne would be more forthcoming with their reward.”

“I came because there is a need for my supply here, my lord,” Davos replied. “Lord Tyrell and Lord Redwyne have more than enough provision for their men. We go wherever our supply is needed, not where they would be turned away.”

Stannis scoffed, but it turned into a cough that took a long time to dissipate. The old man with chains around his neck- the maester, Davos presumed – made a move to touch him, to clap his back to ease the cough, but Stannis waved him away curtly, almost angrily. Stubborn too, this one, Davos thought, mindful of his pride and desperately trying to hide how weak he had grown physically. The young lord soldiered on with his scornful reply to the smuggler whose motive he doubted. “As simple as that? You’re forgetting something, are you not? How a smuggler flaunts the law every day of his life.”

“Not every day, my lord. I do not set sail for sea every day. I spend some time on dry land with my wife and my sons at home too, for some duration of time. There is no law against that, surely.”

The young lord’s face darkened. Davos braced himself for the explosion that was sure to come, but the next words coming out of Stannis Baratheon’s mouth surprised him. “You are a brave man, smuggler. Risking your tongue as well as your head. If you had been caught breaking the siege, Lord Redwyne would have had your head without a moment’s notice.”

 _That_ , was probably the closest Davos would get by way of an expression of gratitude from this unyielding lord.

“And how have I risked my tongue, my lord?” Davos asked.

Stannis ignored the question. “You will be rewarded for your service, once my brother wins the war. A knighthood, a piece of land, your own keep. Tell me, smuggler, have you ever been paid so handsomely for a few barrels of onion and some salt fish?”

Davos took a knee. “My lord, I am most grateful.”

“Of course there is still the matter of your smuggling. Your years and years of blatantly flouting the law. A lawbreaker must be punished, without exception, without fear or favor. Or else the law would mean nothing, words on a parchment without any force to them at all.” Stannis paused, studying Davos’ face.

Davos strove to keep his expression calm. _I will not beg or plead_ , he vowed. _The land, the knighthood, it will pass to my eldest son even if I am punished for my crime_.

“I cannot have an unpunished lawbreaker in my service. Don’t worry, it is not your head or your tongue I mean to take,” said Stannis.

_________________

**Areo (ii)**

_“Is it true he [Oberyn] tried to raise Dorne for Viserys?” “No one speaks of it, but yes. Ravens flew and riders rode, with what secret messages I never knew. Jon Arryn sailed to Sunspear to return Prince Lewyn’s bones, sat down with Prince Doran, and ended all the talk of war. But Robert never went to Dorne thereafter, and Prince Oberyn seldom left it.” (A Storm of Swords)_

“He tells me nothing. He locks himself in his solar day after day and he tells me nothing. He came to bed weeping silent tears night after night and he tells me nothing. I am his wife. How can I comfort him when he refuses to tell me anything? How can I come to his aid when he tells me nothing?”

“The prince is grieving, my lady. For his sister and her poor, sweet children.”

“I know he is grieving. But there is more to it than that. He is planning something. Or his brother is. Or they are planning it together, I do not know. Whatever it is, our children’s fate is at stake. If Doran and Oberyn decide to avenge their sister’s death and challenge this new king, what’s to stop Robert Baratheon from slaughtering my Arianne and my Quentyn like he did little Aegon and little Rhaenys?”

It was already dangerous, what Mellario was saying, something not to be spoken out loud. “Hush, hush. Have a care with your words, my lady, it was not King Robert who-“

“Who, then? It was not this, it was not that. Then who is it? Who is truly to blame? Everyone tells me nothing, as if I am some deaf and dumb ornamental foreigner only good to be stared at. My own husband worst of all. You too, Areo. You who used to be the best of my companions. You have deserted me as well.”

When did it start? Areo could not pinpoint the exact date, when the light had gone out from his lady’s eyes, when the dream had curdled into a nightmare, when love had turned into a battleground. His lady was suffering, but his prince was hurting too, and between them, Areo Hotah would have gladly endured the pain of being branded with another axe on his chest if it would take away his lady’s sorrow and his prince’s pain.

His own sorrow, at being caught in the middle between the two, between his prince and his lady, would never be articulated, or even acknowledged, by himself most of all.

“What did he tell you? My husband. Why did you hear, Areo? You are by his side day and night. You spend more time with him than his own wife does. You must know.”

Her desperation was piercing his heart. He had come to Dorne from Norvos as her sworn shield, but Prince Doran had taken a liking to him and made him part of his own guards. Mellario had not objected. “It would be good to have eyes and ears in the innermost circle,” she had said, strongly implying that _he_ would her eyes and ears in this strange new land that was supposed to be their new home.

The Bearded Priests had never taught him what the right thing to do was, in these situations. _Serve, obey and protect,_ they had drilled that over and over again into Areo’s head.But what if you have two masters, or a master and a mistress? Who should you serve, obey and protect first?

“I know no more than you do, my lady. I am merely a guard, as you know. My duty is to serve, obey and protect, not to give counsel.”

Mellario wrung her hands. “Oh it’s no use. You are his creature now, not mine. You have no more love for your former mistress, now that everything is reserved for your precious prince!”

Areo was aghast. “My lady –“

“Go. Leave me in peace and go back to your silent prince. Tell him his lady wife would like to know if she should be preparing for war. Has Lord Arryn, Hand of the King come to Dorne to declare war? Should I take Arianne and Quentyn with me and flee to Norvos?” Tears were streaming down Mellario’s face. “Go!” She ordered, her voice strangled.

Areo had no choice but to leave. He went out, closed the door softly, and was met by the sight of Prince Doran himself, waiting patiently by the door.

“My prince.”

“Is she … would she be –“

“Perhaps you could give her some time to recover,” Areo said. Her proud lady would not wish to be seen in such a state, not even by her own husband. Perhaps especially not by her husband.

They were not so different in that regard, Areo thought, the prince and his lady wife. Each trying to hide the worst of their pain and sorrow from one another.

“Lady Mellario is worried that the Hand of the King has come to declare war on Dorne,” Areo told his prince, when they were further away from Mellario’s room. “No one has told her the purpose of Lord Arryn’s arrival.”

_You, as her husband, had not told her._

The prince sighed. “He came to return my uncle’s bones. I thought I have told Mellario that, but I must have forgotten in the confusion.” Doran paused. “He came to warn us as well.”

“To warn us that there will be war?”

“To warn us that there must not be war. And there won’t be, not now. Not until we’re ready.” The last sentence was spoken so softly Areo was not certain he had truly heard it.

“Justice is a very patient beast. And so is vengeance,” Doran continued, still in that soft, barely audible voice.

Areo stared at the prince’s pale and wan countenance. The last few moons had taken its toll on him. The pain in his legs was increasing as well. Gout, Maester Caleotte had said, and likely to be worse in the coming years.

“Your burden must be incredible, my prince. If Lady Mellario knows more of your cares and you burdens, she could be of help, if only in giving you comfort, or providing an ear to listen,” Areo said.

 _I did it for my lady_ , he told himself _. I spoke out when it is not my place, for the sake of Lady Mellario. For the lady I once loved myself, a hopeless and futile love though it was._

_And I did it for my prince as well. My sad, lonely prince who shares his burden with no one, not even his beloved brother Oberyn._

There was no anger on Doran’s face, listening to Areo Hotah’s unsolicited counsel, only regret and sadness. “I wish I could, Areo. Oh how I wish I could! But it is for Mellario’s own sake. The less she knows, the safer it would be for her. And for our children. No, I must keep my secrets to myself.”

____________________

**Davos (ii)**

_“Why should I avenge Eddard Stark? The man was nothing to me. Oh, Robert loved him, to be sure. Loved him as a brother, how often did I hear that? I was his brother, not Ned Stark, but you would never have known it by the way he treated me. I held Storm’s End for him, watching good men starve while Mace Tyrell and Paxter Redwyne feasted within sight of my walls. Did Robert thank me? No. He thanked Stark, for lifting the siege when we were down to rats and radishes. (A Clash of Kings)_

“So this is the onion knight I have heard so much about.” The king’s voice was loud and booming, filling the huge throne room that was empty but for the four of them. Davos took a knee. “Your Grace, I am Davos of House Seaworth, at your service.”

Motioning for Davos to rise, the king laughed and said, “My brother would not be best pleased if I am truly to take you into my service. He seems to think of you as his private property already.”

Stannis looked furious, opening his mouth to pour out some scornful reply, no doubt. Maester Cressen had warned Davos how quickly conversations between the Baratheon brothers could devolve into a quarrel. Davos quickly spoke first. “Lord Stannis has been very generous with me, Your Grace. I owe him nothing less than my loyal service.”

“Not generous enough, I hear. Honestly, Stannis, do you _really_ have to chop off the man’s fingers? Saving you from starvation is not enough for a reprieve?”

Stannis started. “The rule of law –“

“Sod the rule of law! I am king now, and you are the king’s brother. Surely between us we have enough power to spare the man who rescued Storm’s End this … this indignity.”

“I thought it was Ned Stark who saved Storm’s End. That was what you were extolling to the masses before,” Stannis said acidly. “And if you are going to be the kind of king who flouts the law for his own convenience, people might begin to wonder why they supported deposing the Mad King in the first place.”

Robert’s face reddened, his eyes bulging. “How dare you compare me with that … that monster!”

“I wasn’t comparing-“

It was Ned Stark who interrupted, quickly, as if he was also of a mind to prevent a quarrel between the king and his brother. “Ser Davos does not seem too much worse for wear,” he said, smiling at Davos. “Has the wound healed? Maester Cressen is very skilled with his herbs and potions, His Grace tells me.”

Davos smiled in return. Everything he had heard about Lord Stark was born out in the flesh. King Robert was fortunate to have such a friend. “Maester Cressen has taken excellent care of me, Lord Stark, under Lord Stannis’ order.”

The king was smiling, but it was not a pleasant smile. More … mischievous, Davos would say. The way his second boy Allard would sometimes smile when he had taken his younger brothers’ toys and hidden them away. “What would you think, Stannis, if I were to take Ser Davos into my service? I could find some position for him in King’s Landing easily, I’m sure,” the king said.

Lord Stannis’ tone, when he replied, was calm and careful. Almost too calm, in fact, which Davos found more worrying than an overt show of anger. “Ser Davos’ land is in the Stormlands, not the Crownlands. Serving you in King’s Landing would mean leaving his keep and his family.”

“I could easily grant him more land, this time in the Crownlands. Richer, more valuable land than that piece of nothing you gave him in Cape Wrath. Do you find that an enticing offer, Ser Davos?”

Was this a test of his loyalty? Or some twisted game the two Baratheon brothers were playing with each other? Either way, Davos wanted nothing to do with it. “I am grateful and content with what Lord Stannis has kindly granted me, I wish for nothing more. But Your Grace is my king and I am your loyal subject, and of course I will obey your command.”

The king laughed. “Well, well, it seems you have found a loyal creature of your own, Stannis. Who would have thought you of all people capable of inspiring that sort of loyalty and devotion. No matter, I have my Ned, and you have your onion knight. You may stay with my dear brother if you wish, Ser Davos, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. You may find it hard to rise higher and be rewarded with more riches serving my brother; he is such a stickler for the letter of the law.”

“Did you command us here to mock me, or to try and steal a knight under my service? Or both?” Stannis asked, the sound of his teeth grinding filling the room.

“Well, I can’t decide, both are supremely entertaining. Which would you rather -“

Ned Stark interrupted the king. “You Grace. About Dragonstone …”

“Ah yes. I have another commission for you, Stannis. Sail to Dragonstone, root out the last of the Targaryen loyalists, and bring back Viserys Targaryen and his newborn sister. I must have them, or else my throne will never be secure. It is your duty to bring them back to me, Stannis.”

“When have I ever forgotten my duty? I choose you and my duty to my blood over my duty to my king, did I not?” Stannis replied.

“You spoke as if the choice was a hard one to make,” the king said, frowning. “Was it a close thing after all? Could we have battled it out at the Trident, you on the Mad King’s side, all for the sake of your duty to your “ _king_ ”? Well, I am your king now, and mind that you do not forget that, brother.”

“You are not likely to make me forget it, so why should we worry about it?” Replied Stannis, his face full of scorn.

 


End file.
